The Quandary's Hope
by Intrepid Aarcher
Summary: Harry's potions skills have been well hidden until an accident occurs involving a deadly concoction. Malfoy has noticed not all seems well with his archnemesis, but why does he care? and where does a surly potions master fit into the equation? HPDM!
1. Lucky Boy

Title: The Quandary's Hope

Author: Intrepid Aarcher

Summary: Harry's Potions skills have been well hidden until an accident occurs involving a deadly concoction. Malfoy has noticed not all seems well with his arch-nemesis, but why does he care? And where does a surly Potions master fit into the equation? HPDM

Disclaimer: I'm not making any money out of this foray into the world of fan fiction. I just like to borrow the characters.

Warnings: eventual Harry/Draco slash. So that's male/male duh. A bit of abuse here and there, and some pretty dark themes.

"_Parseltongue"_

"normal speech"

_Harry's thoughts_

CHAPTER ONE

Lucky Boy

A dark figure sat hunched in his workspace, hissing encouraging words to the potion that was nearing completion. The workspace wasn't much and also served as his living and eating quarters. Dim and cramped, the only light came filtering through the cobwebs from his wand tucked behind one ear. Suddenly he reached out a recently mangled hand clutching awkwardly at a sprig of what appeared to be dried herbs and threw in the ingredient. With the movement, the cauldron tipped precariously, only to be set upright again by the brewer's quick reflexes. Harry Potter was used to working in his cupboard by now.

Ever since the Dursleys had heard of Sirius' death after his fifth year, they were quick to revert back to their former treatment of him, and had therefore graciously given him his old living arrangements back. The beatings had never actually stopped during his summers, and now they had taken a vicious turn, as Vernon was no longer wary of causing visible damage.

During a brief respite in the less than amorous attentions from his family, Harry had decided to restock his personal potions supply. The number of vials he kept secret in his trunk was extensive and the variety of the contents were not limited to mere Healing and Headache Potions, indeed many would be shocked to see the extent of his poisons inventory. Unbeknownst to those who thought they knew him, even the manipulative Dumbledore, Harry excelled in Potions amongst other things, and had kept his more suspicious talents quiet.

By the end of first year he had reached O.W.L. level knowledge in each of his subjects, studying on the quiet as his housemates slept. His lust for knowledge did not stop as he returned to Privet Drive for the summer, it merely provided new challenges to overcome and Harry discovered wandless magic. While the magic detectors monitored by the Ministry were extremely sensitive, he had learned that tiny amounts of wandless magic went unnoticed, and were perfect for the completion of complex potions that required the brewer's magical influence. So during his first summer out of Hogwarts, due to extensive research and experimentation, Harry had developed a Sleepless Potion which only required him to visit the land of nod once a fortnight. After this his research was taken to another level, as he threw himself into study to distract him from his grief over Sirius, and brought him to where he was now, the summer before his sixth year at Hogwarts.

The poison he was currently working on was a particularly nasty concoction and was called Yerasimos' Quandary after the Middle Eastern wizard who first ingested it. It was an extremely slow acting fluid that caused excruciating pain as it burned its way through the victim's bloodstream. Eventually after months of torture, the poison would attack the cell membranes of the vital organs, and the victim would effectively bleed to death internally. The Ministry had seized and destroyed all documents containing the slightest hint as to the procedure or ingredients required over 200 years ago, yet the legend of the poison had been passed down through each generation by Potions masters.

Harry, having caught a brief mention of the poison and its effects in one of the hundreds of ancient potions tomes he devoured, was curious. It had taken him three years to reach this point, and after extensive research and experimentation, he had finally hit on the correct combination of ingredients and was adding the final touches to the poison he had been brewing for the past three weeks.

Reaching behind him and feeling around the equipment he had set up on his cot, he came across a sleek silver dagger, sharpened so finely it could cut through steel with only the slightest pressure. The handle had a beautiful figurine of an elongated woman clutching at the blade whilst a snake wrapped around her in suffocation.

Harry liked this part of the process; the blood letting. He gasped as he sank the point of the blade deep into the tip of his index finger, relishing the sharp sensation that clawed its way up his arm. He knew it was wrong, this kind of sick pleasure in order to feel alive. He also knew the only reason he enjoyed it was because he was choosing to do it, like a small glimpse of freedom no one had ever let him experience. The Dursleys took his blood by force when they beat him, and the years of virtual slavery they subjected him to encouraged him to take what scraps of freedom he could. Voldemort too had taken his blood, and to top it off he was slowly being moulded into Dumbledore's puppet. Although he liked this ritual, he knew his blood was too valuable to waste for recreational purposes and only did so when required for potions.

"_Finished!" _Harry hissed triumphantly as the potion suddenly cooled and turned a slightly pale shade of mercury. "_My favourite colour…"_

Just then he heard the front door slam open and what sounded like a herd of elephants stumbling into the hall and without thinking hid his wand. "_Great." _Dudley and his gang had just returned and judging by the way they were struggling to take the lock off the cupboard door in their drunken state, they were up for some of their favourite sport; Harry Bashing.

The door to Harry's hovel was suddenly wrenched clean off its hinges. Harry moved to hide what he'd been up to, but not before the three hulking figures caught sight of the cauldron. Hesitating only momentarily, Dudley reached in and grabbed Harry by the front of his overlarge t-shirt and threw him against the opposite wall. With all three of the gang helping, Harry's struggle was futile as they dragged him up to Dudley's second bedroom and shut the door behind them. Once again Harry's skull was slammed against a wall.

"Hallo Dud, did they kick you out of the pub because your ugly face was scaring the customers away?" Harry said cheerily.

"What were you up to you pathetic little freak?" Dudley growled into his face. Piers Polkiss and another boy Harry recognized glowered menacingly over their leader's shoulders.

"I'll happily tell you if you say the _magic _word." At this Dudley's fat face turned red and swelled up even further. Before Harry knew what hit him, Dudley's enormous fist crashed into his skull. Before he could hit the ground, Piers was holding his arms firmly behind his back while Dudley pounded his pudgy fists into his stomach and face. The other boy was still, but if Harry was reassured by the thought he had someone on his side, this was quickly stomped on when he caught a glimpse of the boy's face.

He seemed familiar but Harry couldn't recall his name. The boy was handsome with dark hair that was cropped close to his head. His skin was golden and flawless, as if he spent his life on the shores of the Mediterranean. He was tall and lithe, and stood with careless grace, not caring to join in the beating as though he couldn't be bothered. But his eyes… his eyes were staring at Harry's face as he endured the blows, the intensity in those chocolate brown depths alight with something similar to lust, and for the first time in a long while, Harry was afraid.

Dudley's punches began to fall with less frequency and accuracy as the lump of a boy tired, and finally came to a halt.

"I'm hungry." He grunted and lurched towards the door. He turned towards Piers and the other boy. "You coming?"

Piers, always anxious to please his leader dropped Harry and followed instantly, while the other lingered for a moment. "Give me a moment would you?" he said smoothly. Dudley couldn't have cared less, and Harry was left alone in a heap on the floor with the strange dark character.

As Harry had been conditioned to endure beatings since he was young, he was very much aware of his surroundings even though his body was unable to move. He watched the boy stalk closer to his prone form with wary eyes.

He didn't know what to expect, and for someone who learned to survive by always anticipating his opponents next move, he was terrified. He reached inside himself to feel for the deep well of magic in case something should happen and he could no longer avoid using it, even at the risk of detection- but there was nothing. Harry groaned inwardly as he remembered he had used his vast reserves while brewing the potion over the past few weeks, and even as powerful as he was, he couldn't restore his magical energy without a decent meal and some sleep. He had had neither for weeks.

While these thoughts had been racing through his head, the stranger had moved even closer to Harry and was raking his eyes over his battered body. Moving to straddle him, he placed one hand almost tenderly on his face and forced Harry to look into his eyes.

"Harry," he breathed, "So green, so beautiful, so…powerless."

Harry was trembling now, and seeing this, the other boy chuckled harshly. "Are you afraid of me? Don't be. I want to show you how perfect you are, even in your current state." He frowned slightly at that, as though regretting how badly Harry had been beaten. "But no matter…" At that his hand left Harry's cheek and moved down along his neck to caress his collar bone. His other hand gripped Harry's shoulder, and seeing the slightly smaller boy was paralyzed with fear, he crushed their lips together. Forcing his mouth open, he plunged his tongue into Harry's mouth and began to ravage every spot he could find. _It's not supposed to be like this!_ Harry's brain screamed. He knew he was attracted to boys after the disastrous experience with Cho, but he had been waiting for his first experience with another of his sex until he found someone he could trust - not only to keep his secret, but to take his feelings into consideration.

Pain exploded in Harry's mind as hands began their own exploration of his body, pressing against fresh bruises and cracked ribs. The brown eyed boy took his mangled hand and squeezed. _Hard. _Harry screamed in pain into the boy's mouth. The other boy was delighted at this and broke off the 'kiss' to grin wickedly at Harry. This humiliation was more painful than anything Dudley had ever done to him.

The boy moved off Harry and kneed him in his already battered stomach, and with a smirk and a soft caress to Harry's cheek, strode out of the room. Harry, his ordeal over at last, found he could move, restored his dignity as best he could and curled up on his side. Silent tears streamed down his disfigured face, and as he drifted off, he wished he had lost consciousness sooner.

Not ten minutes after he had been left alone, he was dragged back to awareness by being rolled down the stairs. _Here we go again,_ he thought as he cracked one eye open and took in his surroundings. He was almost grateful when he could only spot Piers and Dudley, as they dumped him back on his cot under the stairs. As they did so, his movement disrupted the cloak he had used to cover his potions. He felt Dudley pause as he saw the cauldron for the second time.

"Piers, hold him down," he instructed as he reached for the cool cauldron. As weak as Harry was, he started to struggle violently as Piers wrenched his jaw open and blocked his nose, but he was no match for them in his state. Dudley held the cauldron over his face and slowly tipped it towards his mouth. Harry could only watch in horror as the silver liquid came ever closer to the brim, and finally, flowed over the edge to fill his mouth. Piers held him firmly as he tried to turn his head or spit it out. A small trickle escaped and ran down his chin, but there was a lot more in the cauldron. This continued for about a minute until at last he was forced to swallow, the freezing slow burn of the poison making its way down his throat.

Harry was thinking quickly. He could not die- the prophecy had seen to that, but he would be in indescribable pain for the rest of his life. Fortunately there was an antidote that he had read about called Yarasimos' Hope, which he had 48 hours to concoct and ingest before any irreversible damage was done. The reversal of the poison was also a slow and painful process, as the antidote forced all foreign substances from the body over a period of some months. The foul tasting substance had to be taken regularly, or else the poison would override it. The unfortunate thing was that due to the antidote forcing any other substance from his body, he could not take any healing potions, and anything he took now could affect the potion when he took it. Healing spells would also be rendered useless as the poison had strong magical properties that prevented any interference with its progress. The best he could do would be to cast Concealing Charms which worked externally to hide his true appearance.

As he slowly lost consciousness, he heard the voice of his snarky Potions master in his head, and hissed to himself, "_Yes, yes I know, always brew the antidote before attempting the poison. I can just see your face if you knew saying 'I told you so.'" _Not that he intended to let the git find out. He did, however, require some extremely rare potions ingredients that he knew Snape had in his private stores. Luckily for him, he was due on the Hogwarts Express tomorrow and would have just enough time to brew the antidote at school. Just. He was a lucky boy. _A very lucky boy…_ was his last thought before he slipped into merciful darkness.

End chapter 1

A/N: I hope you liked it! Tell me if it was too dull or anything- it was my first ever piece of writing so sorry if it lost a few people along the way


	2. The Sneak

Title: The Quandary's Hope

Author: Intrepid Aarcher

Summary: Malfoy has noticed not all seems well with his arch-nemesis, but why does he care? And where does a surly Potions master fit into the equation? HPDM

Disclaimer: I'm not making any money out of this foray into the world of fan fiction. I just like to borrow the characters.

Warnings: eventual Harry/Draco slash. So that's male/male duh. A bit of abuse here and there, and some pretty dark themes.

CHAPTER 2

The Sneak

Harry groaned as he awoke in pain. Slowly, he attempted to stretch to assess the damage and hissed each item on his inventory of injuries as he came across them. "_Terrific, left collar bone; broken, right shoulder; dislocated, right arm; broken, ouch ribs!; some cracked, left hand; well that looks disgusting, jaw; dislocated, nose; possibly shoved into my brain if the pain in my head is anything to go by, legs; okay, feet; left ankle doesn't look too good." _Harry sighed as he lay back down. Something was telling him that wasn't the last of it and winced as the memories of what had happened the previous day came back. "_How could I forget the poison? Ssssshit!" _

His insides felt like they were on fire. The pain was such that it felt so achingly bone deep, he wondered if he'd be able to stand. He could tell someone what happened, _no, then Dumbledore would know everything. _Since that fateful night Sirius had died, Harry couldn't forgive the old man for keeping him in the dark. The closer he looked back on past conversations with the Headmaster, the more he realized he had been shamelessly manipulated, though he supposed he must have been suspicious subconsciously or he would have revealed to the old codger who he really was.

"BOY! Get your act together!" Vernon was banging on the door. Harry maneuvered himself to get off the cot as painlessly as possible only to wince when he put weight on his ankle. He made his way to the bathroom with a change of clothes and gratefully stepped under the hot stream of water, imagining that all the pain was washing away down the drain along with the blood and grime. He gingerly dried off, not daring to look in the mirror until he had clothes on. When he finally did he grimaced at what he saw.

His face was swollen and disfigured, multiple cuts and bruises successfully trying to mask the fact that he had eyes and a mouth, his jaw and nose were off centre. Knowing that if he did nothing about those they would become permanent, he set about trying to straighten them. Without the use of Healing Spells or Pain Numbing Potions, Harry grasped hold of his jaw, tipped his head to the right and, taking a sharp breath, wrenched his jaw to the left. His vision momentarily when blank as his mind dealt with the pain. Clutching the basin, he caught his breath again before looking to his nose.

Ten minutes later Harry stepped out of the bathroom looking like the person everyone in the Wizarding World recognized. While he had straightened his nose, he had discovered that some of his reserves of magic had come back whilst unconscious, and had set about concealing his various wounds. He looked ravishing, as many witches had informed him over the years. He couldn't see it, but then he had been told he was an ugly freak for much longer.

Gathering his meager belongings in his trunk and double checking to see if the magical container that shrunk and stored his potions was secured, Harry hopped into the car. Harry didn't like it when he had time to think like this. Throughout the journey his mind kept drifting over the incident with the strange boy yesterday. He tried not to shudder as he remembered those chocolate brown eyes. He had seen them before, he just knew it, but in a different context – that's why he couldn't place him with Dudley.

Vernon left him at the entrance to the station and Harry made his way slowly to the platform. As he reached it, more and more people turned to look and greet him. Through his pain, he kept repeating a sort of mantra: _left. Right. Left. Right. Smile at Ron and Hermione. Left. Right. Force laugh…_

Thankful that they didn't perceive any difference in him, he chatted with them and asked amiably about their holidays. They had both been staying at Grimmauld Place with the Order, but were quick to reassure him that they weren't told anything that they could've passed on, even if they had been allowed to write to him. They were about halfway down the carriage looking for an empty compartment when the inevitable happened and the Slytherin gang showed up.

"My, my Potter, you're walking as though you've got a sword up your arse. Should we be alarmed that you're concealing weapons?" Malfoy asked snidely. Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy Parkinson sniggered behind him.

"Shove off, Malfoy! We all know your head is stuck up yours!" Ron retorted as he pushed Harry and Hermione into a compartment nearby. A little worried that the blond had noticed something his friends had not, Harry had a laugh at the shocked indignity on Malfoy's face before collapsing into a heap on the seat, his best friends opposite him.

It took him a minute, and he almost slapped himself when he finally noticed it, but Hermione and Ron were practically glued to one another. He raised his eyebrows and blinked at them waiting for them to explain.

Noticing his expression, Hermione hastened to explain. "Oh Harry, please don't be mad at us! We know we've always been the trio, but well, over summer, Ron and I got a little closer and worked out our feelings for each other, and well, we're a couple now…" she stuttered.

Harry blinked again. "Why would I be mad?" he asked.

Ron spoke up this time, "Well, mate, you look a little upset; we'll always be friends, you know."

At that Harry realized his carefully constructed mask was slipping and the pain was starting to show through. "Oh no you two! I'm happy for you!" he said with a grin. "I'm only pissed because I lost the bet to Seamus as to how long it would take you morons to figure it out!"

"Harry!" shouted Ron and Hermione at once, but they were blushing and grinning from ear to ear. Relieved he had reassured them, he slowly stretched across the seats on his side and informed them he was going to take a nap to let them have some privacy. As he lay there, he thought back on his years with his friends and wished he could take back the decision to hide his home life from them. They knew he wasn't happy there, but they had no idea to what extent. _Being friends with Harry Potter is enough of a burden,_ he thought, they to deal with Voldemort and his own temper on a regular basis, so he was aware of how lucky he was.

There was still some degree of innocence surrounding his friends even after all they had been through, and he didn't want to shatter that. _Let them be happy in their ignorance._ He also didn't know how they would react. Maybe they'd think he had brought it on himself – goodness knows he deserves it for all the suffering he caused. After a few minutes lost in thought, he eventually drifted off to sleep for real.

Harry found himself being shaken awake by a concerned looking Ron. He sat up cautiously and looked around the compartment at a shocked Hermione, Ginny – who must have come in while he slept, and to his surprise Malfoy, who was frozen in place at the door.

"H-Harry, mate?" Ron said shakily, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, why? What happened?" he queried.

"It was awful, Harry! You were having a nightmare and clutching at your stomach, writhing in pain… and Harry…" Hermione's voice dropped to a worried hush, "you were hissing in Parseltongue!"

Harry did the only thing he could think of to divert the unwanted attention and turned to the Slytherin still standing in the doorway.

"Have you come for your usual visit? Must say the routine's getting boring. You're becoming predictable Malfoy." he sneered.

The blond glared back, "Actually I was just passing when I saw you in excruciating pain and thought I'd stop to etch such a pleasant sight in my memory."

"So that's how you get your kicks? Who'd have thought it? The Slytherin Prince is a sadistic bastard! No, really?" Harry spat back. Malfoy's face was flushed as he opened his mouth to retort when-

"Just get lost Malfoy." said Ron, closing the door in his face and effectively putting an end to the uncomfortable dialogue. The Slytherin glared at them through the glass before stalking away, not willing to show that Harry had touched a nerve. Harry pretended to drift off once again.

The train arrived at Hogwarts shortly after, and Harry, relatively well rested after his sleep despite the nightmare, was able to pull off the pretence of enjoying the feast. Or so he thought. An intense silver gaze drew his attention across the hall. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he held the gaze; sure that Malfoy was plotting something. He must have been right because the guilty party flushed and looked away. Harry smirked and allowed himself to become involved in the Gryffindor table's antics once more.

Benches scraped back and the volume of the student's chatter picked up as they all left the hall. This was Harry's best, if only, chance to get into Snape's potions supply while he inducted his new first years into Slytherin House. He excused himself from his housemates as they wandered up to Gryffindor tower, stating that he needed to see Dumbledore, and wandered off in the direction of the headmasters' office.

Once he was out of sight, he took his invisibility cloak out of his pocket, enlarged it to its original size and threw it over his weakening form. Quietly making his way down to the dungeons, he located the potions store room and stood before the unremarkable door. Feeling stronger since his rest and the feast, he placed his hands on the serpent handle and drew upon the well of magic coiled deep within his very being. Sensing the wards thin, enough to let him pass, he heaved open the door and entered the suffocating space.

He had discovered these stores with the help of his newly acquired Marauder's Map in third year, when he had wanted ingredients unavailable for student use. He hadn't been discovered yet, covering his tracks well by taking little and gathering what he could from the forbidden forest. Tonight however, he doubted his theft would go unnoticed, for while he required small amounts, the ingredients were extremely rare.

Quickly gathering the required amount for one batch of Yarasimos' Hope, he reset the wards and made his way to a forgotten classroom he often used and began to set up a makeshift lab. Even with limited security, it was the best place to brew potions, as the DA frequented the Room of Requirement and often stumbled across artifacts from the room's other uses.

Exercising the extreme caution required for handling these rare ingredients wasn't easy with trembling hands. More than once he had lost precious amounts of liquid from a shaky spatula, but by some miracle each drop had landed in the correct cauldron. The staple ingredients to the potion he didn't already have he obtained by hastily distilling them from the potions he foresaw to shrink and keep in his pocket.

It was about 3 am when he finally hit his pillow. He had left the potion and equipment under a Concealment Charm to simmer for a few hours. Just as he performed a Silencing Charm on the hangings around his bed, seizures began and he doubled over, clutching his knees to his chest. After what seemed like hours of intense pain but in reality only lasted fifteen minutes, the torture relented a little and he was able to drift off to sleep.

End chapter 2


	3. Leaning on Hermione

Title: The Quandary's Hope

Author: Intrepid Aarcher

Summary: Malfoy has noticed not all seems well with his arch-nemesis, but why does he care? And where does a surly Potions master fit into the equation? HPDM

Disclaimer: I'm not making any money out of this foray into the world of fan fiction. I just like to borrow the characters.

Warnings: eventual Harry/Draco slash. So that's male/male duh. A bit of abuse here and there, and some pretty dark themes.

CHAPTER 3

Leaning on Hermione

Harry stumbled into the Great Hall halfway through breakfast the next morning.

"Whoa, mate, you look like shit." Ron said as he sat down next to him. Harry started and had a moment of panic as he wondered how his glamour charm could have worn off, then relaxed as he realized even his imposed self would look a bit ragged after a late night bent over sickly potion vapors and a seizure.

"What did Dumbledore want, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Oh," Harry spluttered having forgotten about his excuse for running off, "I wanted to tell him about what happened on the train." Ron and Hermione nodded approvingly. If Dumbledore was handling this matter then there was nothing to worry about. Harry almost rolled his eyes.

His first class that day was Advanced Potions which suited him perfectly as the classroom was close to the location he had left the antidote in, so all he had to do was slip away and take his first dose.

He made his way down to the dungeons with Hermione. They were the only two Gryffindors in NEWT level Potions, as Snape had worked hard to fail anyone unworthy of his time. How Harry had gotten past his web he would dearly like to know.

Hermione noticed Harry limping slightly, and when pressed, he lied and said he had twisted his ankle when the staircase he was standing on had shifted. He did however take advantage of the support she offered, draping his arm across her shoulders and leaning heavily on her slight frame.

They descended the last few steps into the classroom and squinted into the gloom, waiting for their eyes to adjust. Predictably, the Slytherins were already there, trying to look imposing whilst juggling numerous volumes of text. They were standing clustered in a group which showed the social pecking order of the Purebloods. Crabbe and Goyle filled space towards the back, while Malfoy fended off a clingy Pansy Parkinson at the head of the group, and somewhere in the middle stood Blaise Zabini, a tall elegant figure Harry had little to do with. He had shoulder length brown hair and chocolate brown eyes. _That's uncanny…_he thought, but a closer inspection was cut off as the group's leader rid himself of his burden and stepped forward.

"Watch out Potter, you'd better not get too close to the Mudblood, someone might just tell the Weasel." Malfoy said in a nasty snarl when he saw them. His face was twisted with malice as he observed the two, and inexplicably, turned and stormed away to his usual desk, leaving his posse unclear of their next actions.

Harry and Hermione turned and shrugged at each other before moving to their desk. As they sat waiting for Snape, Harry flicked though his Potions text book, distractedly marking which potions he was running low on, when he felt eyes on him again. His head shot up, scanning the room for the intense gaze he had felt, but whoever it had been had looked away. Harry frowned. Stranger still was Snape's lateness – something that had never happened in the history of the professor teaching at the school. Even Hogwarts seemed uncomfortable, the presence of the classroom was nervous, the flames were flickering in their wall brackets in the still foreboding air.

The smattering of students jumped as the heavy door slammed shut. Snape stormed to the front of room with a livid expression on his face that would curdle butter. _So the ingredients were missed…_Harry thought gleefully as he watched the professor pace furiously behind his desk. His classmates were stunned, for even in a rage Snape barely betrayed so much emotion. Harry wasn't worried, he was safe from suspicion. Indeed all of the students were, not once did the brooding man even indicate that he was aware of their presence. He couldn't fathom the thought that anyone below the level of Grand Wizard would be able to break through his wards and reset them with a flick of their wrist, not to mention achieve this in the space of ten minutes! Someone cleared their throat and Snape snapped from his internal monologue and glanced around as if just remembering he was a teacher in this infernal institution.

"Turn to page three hundred and ninety-four…"

About halfway through the lesson, Harry lost his patience in pretending to learn and decided to create a distraction so he could leave and take the antidote. He had become rather skilled at sabotaging his own work, this being the only reason Snape hadn't found out that he could be a potions master in his own right. Today they were working alone, so thankfully no one else would share the wrath that would surely come down upon his head, as well as the lost credit.

Snape had his back towards him, leaning over a Ravenclaw's cauldron as Harry launched into action. He had calculated the moment that would cause the most damage and leaned out of harms way. He threw the wrong ingredients into the cauldron and dove for cover, wincing in pain as he hit the floor. A split second later there was a resounding BOOM and the classroom was filled with smoke and bits of cauldron debris rained down on them.

"EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY!" Snape barked above the turmoil and shouting of the students.

_Shit. _Harry thought as he tried to push himself to his feet. His vision swam and his face was a mask of pain as he sank to the floor again. The last of the students had exited the room and Harry groaned, he had underestimated his injuries but had to get out – if he inhaled too much of this the antidote might react badly. Suddenly, a pale hand wrapped around his wrist and wrenched him to his feet. He was then half dragged, half carried through the corridor, to a small alcove where he was dumped unceremoniously on the floor while an air cleansing charm was uttered. Sucking in lungfulls of fresh air, he peered up at the blond with a questioning gaze. Malfoy stared down at him curiously.

"You did that on purpose." he stated. "Why?"

Harry looked at his watch and avoided the question, throwing all his focus on disguising the fact that he was in agony and appearing calm and unfazed.

"What are you hiding Potter?" Harry jumped as he felt a warm breath and soft lips graze his ear. He had not noticed the boy getting closer.

Malfoy sneered as he stood once again. "No answer, Potter? Oh well." He shrugged and moved his hands to cup his mouth, "PROFESSOR I'VE CAUGHT HIM, HE'S OVER HERE!"

Snape's quick stride was heard and a moment later the potion masters pale face appeared in front of Harry's swimming vision.

"POTTER! Of all the… GAAAH!" he took a few deep breaths in order to compose himself. He then spoke in a flat tone, "You will serve detention. With me. Every Monday night. Until the end of semester." And with that he stalked off with his voluminous black robes billowing in his wake.

Harry slumped down against the wall in defeat. The pain was almost too much to bear now, and he momentarily forgot Malfoy seated on the other side of the alcove.

"What, no witty comeback? No biting remark?" the pale boy said scathingly, although his words were more to ensure he elicited a reaction from the Golden Gryffindor, and he grew wary about his nemesis' lack of spirit. Then to Malfoy's surprise, Harry lurched to his feet and ambled off down a dark corridor without a word.

_Quickly, quickly, no time for discretion…_Harry thought as he slipped through the door of 'his' classroom. With a wave of his wand and a muttered incantation, he locked the door, revealed the makeshift Potions laboratory and set about measuring out a little bit more than the required dosage. He wanted to make doubly sure he had every chance in overcoming the poison.

The antidote had developed into a viscous black fluid and smelled like acetone. Harry held the vial to his lips and started convincing himself to swallow the foul liquid. _Why does nothing that's good for you ever taste like butterscotch?_ And with that he threw his head back and choked down the vile potion.

He felt the effects immediately as he clutched at his throat and chest. His eyes were wide as a searing heat pulsed through his being, causing him to spasm as he awkwardly lowered himself to the floor. Unable to hold down all of the antidote, the excess bubbled up inside of him and issued from his mouth with a gurgle, staining his chin and the front of his shirt with the black, tar-like substance. Finally reaching the cool floor, Harry pressed his forehead to the damp flagstones, shut his eyes and lost all grasp of conscious thought.

A creak sounded through the darkness as the door opened, emitting a quiet figure. The person moved cautiously towards the centre of the room where the shuddering form of Harry lay. Reaching out, the figure slowly turned him over and inhaled sharply.

"Potter!"

End chapter 3

A/N: Is it just me or does Harry seem to end each adventure by getting knocked out? Hmmm… must do something about that. Hope this was alright, please tell me if it is lacking in any way. Or you could just write a friendly note to say it was ok, I wouldn't mind that either.


	4. Cracked Ice

Title: The Quandary's Hope

Author: Intrepid Aarcher

Summary: Harry's Potions skills have been well hidden until an accident occurs involving a deadly concoction. Malfoy has noticed not all seems well with his arch-nemesis, but why does he care? And where does a surly Potions master fit into the equation? HDPM

Disclaimer: I'm not making any money out of this foray into the world of fan fiction. I just like to borrow the characters.

Warnings: eventual Harry/Draco slash. So that's male/male duh. A bit of abuse here and there, and some pretty dark themes.

"_Parseltongue"_

"normal speech"

_Harry's thoughts_

CHAPTER FOUR

Cracked Ice

Snape was troubled. He had just dismissed the last straggling students loitering after such a disastrous class. His brows furrowed and his dark eyes lost their focus as he pondered the situation. Not only had amounts of his most prized ingredients gone missing, someone had broken through his wards to do it, and replaced them with a wave of their wand! It was preposterous! No one could accomplish such a feat! He was a powerful wizard himself and had accordingly erected some of the most powerful wards ever heard of. To have replaced them as well in such a short amount of time was incomprehensible! He wasn't even able to trace the wand that aided the wizard. To make matters worse, his first class of the year had blown up in his face - literally – because of that insolent Potter brat, and to top it all off, he had just had a sudden insight as to what potion the thief was brewing.

Due to the precise amount of ingredients taken, he saw the connection in the combination and was able to add up the facts. Someone was preparing Yerasimos' Hope. Another thought caused him to pause; this in turn meant that someone had consumed the fatal Quandary!

This conclusion was terrifying, due of course to the extremely dark nature of the potion, and more so because Snape knew for a fact that it hadn't been developed in over 200 years. The Ministry had burned all information on how to make it, and while many Potions Masters were able to speculate what was in it, none were brave enough to delve any further. Therefore, the person who had made it was either incredibly stupid to experiment with such ingredients, or exceedingly smart. Or both. Snape's face twisted even further with this thought.

Thankfully, he had a spare period now and was churning over these disturbing revelations in his head while he embarked on his favourite pastime: stalking through the corridors in the cool air of the dungeons. Upon hearing voices up ahead, he turned into a narrower, rarely used passage. He really didn't want a confrontation with pesky students, his beloved Slytherins or otherwise.

Snape crept further into the dark, arriving at the abandoned classroom that stood at the end, and thought he might gather his thoughts in the quiet for a few minutes. He reached out to turn the handle of the heavy oak door, only to be surprised to find it locked. Snape's brow knotted as he tried to open it once again. He never locked this door. There was nothing worthwhile in the classroom for the wretched students to take.

Taking his wand out of his sleeve, he pointed it at the door and muttered a powerful "Alohomora," and the door gave an ominous creak as it opened inwards. Stepping cautiously into the chamber, he could hear muffled movement as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. A dark figure was over in the far corner, thrashing about violently and trembling. He took quick strides across the room.

"Great Morgan…" he uttered as he happened across the cauldron containing the antidote. Not once while he was absorbed in his internal ramblings had he considered the poor soul who had to endure the two extremely vicious potions. Refusing to feel ashamed, he realized he was actually in the presence of greatness. This was the wizard who had re-discovered Yerasimos' Quandary, the one who had dismantled his wards with the wave of his wand.

He turned to the shuddering figure now to offer aid. There wasn't much to him, he thought as he encountered barely more than skin and bones. The person suddenly twisted his neck, throwing the masses of black hair out of his face. With this chance to discover the identity of the victim, Snape leaned closer and peered at the ghostly white face in the gloom.

Inhaling sharply, it was a few moments before he could gasp: "Potter!"

He grimaced as he caught sight of a certain scar, no he wasn't mistaken. All the evidence was telling him Potter had brewed the potions. He couldn't believe it though. His Potions skills were abysmal; someone else must have done it and used him as a sort of tester. Yes, that explained it… Shaking his head to clear the conflicting information, Snape raised his wand, ready to send an alarm signal to the Headmaster. Holding the wand high above his head, he drew breath to voice the incantation when -

"Don't!" A pale hand grasped at the front of his robe and drew him down level with his face. Potter had woken up. "Don't…" he whispered a second time.

Snape was about to ignore the young man, but was shocked to find that amidst so much pain, Potter's eyes were sharp and focused, giving credence to his plea. The Potions professor didn't understand. Surely in his hour of need, the Golden Boy would beg for his keeper. Though why anyone would trust that old manipulator he could only guess.

The boy's eyes were slowly losing clarity and were drifting shut again. The effects of the seizure were taking their toll and Potter was succumbing to exhaustion. With a final shudder, the body in Snape's arms went limp.

"Shit." The shaken Potions Master told the darkness.

After an internal argument that lasted some seconds, Snape decided to help the brat – not as an act of kindness mind you, but because he would be able to hold it over the boy's head if need be. There was also the matter of clearing up the Yerasimos' Quandary and Hope issue.

After the hesitation, he finally tossed his head and cast Mobicorpulus and felt the figure of Potter rise horizontally into the air beside him. Deciding that discretion was necessary, he removed his outer robe and draped it over the prone form, successfully masking his more recognizable features from view.

Slipping into the deserted corridor, Snape looked around before guiding the hovering form out of the door. Wanting to get out of the halls as quickly as possible, he barely made sure the floating figure was following before striding off in the direction of his lab. Hurrying to his door and forcing the body before him, he didn't notice an elegant blond figure surreptitiously watching him from the shadows.

Slamming the door shut behind him, Snape estimated that he had at least an hour and a half before the more eager students started to arrive for his next class after lunch. Where to put Potter? There was only one thing for it. Looking over to the door which separated his private quarters from his lab, he let out a snarl that had been long overdue.

Gliding over to the thick wooden panel, he lifted several powerful warding charms before summoning the boy. He conjured a cot and levitated the still form onto it. He then thought to draw screens around it in case his patient was partial to privacy. Not that he cared. He just didn't want to have to deal with the sight of Potter lying prone in the corner of his sitting room. Deciding that he'd like his outer robe back, he stepped within the enclosed space and gently pulled the heavy black material away from the boy's face. In this light it was easier to inspect the Gryffindor's condition, and he gaped at what he saw.

One of Potters eyes was swollen shut while the other had a razor thin white scar running from his cheekbone to above his eyebrow, almost seamlessly joining the infamous lightening bolt. The back of his head was matted with congealed blood, so thick he was unable to locate the wound. His nose had recently been straightened and as such was swollen, with dried blood in the nostrils. Potter's jaw which many deemed strong and defined had a blue tinge to it as though it had been reset and his lips were split and bloodied.

His eyes were then drawn down to the hands that lay at his side. Two of the fingernails of Potter's right hand were missing, and his left hand curled in such a way that led him to believe the bones had been crushed. Carefully lifting the hand, he slowly felt beyond the wrist and was able to confirm that the arm was broken, and judging by the movement of the shoulder joint, it was at least dislocated.

Harry's breathing was labored, and when Snape lifted his shirt and pressed down on the lightly muscled chest, the unconscious form winced. Three ribs were broken and a couple of others had fractures. He was extremely lucky he hadn't punctured a lung, which wouldn't have been surprising due to the movement in the seizures. Snape went on with the examination discovering numerous other injuries.

Suddenly, something cracked inside the professor. It was the cold ice barrier around his heart which he had worked so hard to construct. For how could it not shatter when such a shocking display of battered innocence lay before him?

Snape had seen many beatings before at the hands of the Death Eaters, yet this one seemed to be the final straw, the clincher, he could take no more. Especially not in the form of Harry who always appeared to be naive and inexperienced in the dark dealings of the world. Harry used to be his one aggravating constant, seemingly wide eyed and irritatingly brash. Now his view of The Boy Who Lived would change forever.

It was at this point in his thought process that it became certain. Snape vowed to whatever deity watching over Wizard Kind, that he would always be there for Harry, and would protect him like he would his own kin.

"I'll kill them." was the bleak promise he made to whoever did this to the emerald eyed boy.

"Kill who, Severus?"

Snape started violently and stepped out from behind the screen to face the advancing intruder.

"Stay where you are, Draco."


	5. Snape's Interests

Title: The Quandary's Hope

Author: Intrepid Aarcher

Summary: Harry's Potions skills have been well hidden until an accident occurs involving a deadly concoction. Malfoy has noticed not all seems well with his arch-nemesis, but why does he care? And where does a surly Potions master fit into the equation? HPDM

Disclaimer: I'm not making any money out of this foray into the world of fan fiction. I just like to borrow the characters.

Warnings: eventual Harry/Draco slash. So that's male/male duh. A bit of abuse here and there, and some pretty dark themes.

"_Parseltongue"_

"normal speech"

_Thoughts_

CHAPTER FIVE

Snape's Interests

"_I'll kill them." was the bleak promise he made to whoever did this to the emerald eyed boy._

"_Kill who, Severus?"_

_Snape started violently and stepped out from behind the screen to face the advancing intruder. _

"_Stay where you are, Draco."_

"Can I be of any assistance?" he drawled, insinuating the body behind the screen.

_Just what I need._ The Potions Master grumbled to himself. The young Slytherin was dangerous, and for all he knew, might have played a pivotal role in Harry's present state. Although his Godson deferred to him in many aspects, the blond still believed him to be in the innermost ranks of the death eaters and hoped to one day follow in his footsteps. Snape didn't have much hope for his salvation.

"No, Draco. This matter requires a certain amount of discretion, the fewer who know about it the better." Snape intoned conspiratorially, implying he meant no offence to the Malfoy heir, that this was dirty business, too distasteful for the likes of the young aristocrat.

"Well, if you're certain." Draco said, straining to catch a glimpse around the partition. Snape took a few menacing steps towards him and he stopped in his tracks, raising a sardonic eyebrow at his Godfather.

"Was there anything in particular that you came to see me for?" The tall man snapped. Draco shook his head. "Please be aware, that while you are always welcome to seek me in my chambers, the privilege of knowing the access codes to pass my wards will be revoked if you are not more 'selective' about the moments you choose to visit." And Draco, knowing a dismissal when he saw one, beat a graceful - albeit hasty - retreat. The door was shut in his face.

Harry groaned as he awoke, not daring to open his eyes and face reality. Surprisingly, he was on a soft, warm surface, not the cold, hard floor he last remembered collapsing onto. Suddenly, his eyes flew open in shock as a firm hand cupped the back of his head and the pale face of the Head of Slytherin materialized in front of his face. He blinked a few times, trying to clear the hallucination from his vision, but to no avail. The sight of his Potions Master was confirmed when it spoke.

"Sit up slowly. I need to determine where the abrasion on your head is." He said in a quiet voice.

Harry stared. "Who are you and what have you done with Snape?" he asked.

"_Professor _Snape. Do you feel dizzy? How many fingers am I holding up? Does it hurt when I do this? How about this? Good."

Harry blinked again as the man formerly known as the Surly Git left the enclosure of screens for a minute. When he returned, he was juggling an assortment of bandages and ointments, the latter in recognizable Muggle packaging. He summoned a clean cloth and a bowl of steaming water, and proceeded to divest Harry of his outer robes and shirt, leaving him to feel exposed in just his trousers.

After an awkward silence that lasted some minutes while Snape continued to clean and bandage his wounds, Harry ventured forth in a timid voice: "Why are you helping me?"

Snape's face cleared itself of any emotions. "What, you would have preferred to expire in a gruesome, bloody puddle and left to be found by Filch during spring cleaning? I apologize. If ever again I find you in a similar predicament, I won't hesitate to walk away."

"Sir! Please, I-I meant…" Harry trailed off and lowered his eyes quickly to avoid letting the man see the hurt in his tearful orbs.

Snape sighed when he realized just how he was handling the situation. Rubbing his face to clear his thoughts, he once again took in the boy sitting destitute and battered before him.

"Harry…" he began. The boy's head rose tentatively upon hearing his name spoken by Snape. "Harry, you have known for some time now of the role I play in this war. While I might once have answered to Voldemort, I have never actually been completely loyal to Dumbledore. My decisions have been made with my sole interests at heart. Voldemort is a sick misguided monster who once offered me a place in his twisted vision of the world, and Dumbledore is a manipulating old fool who offered me even greater protection in return for a ready made double agent. Needless to say I took the Headmaster's offer.

"I have been there every step of the way, watched as he whispered 'guidance' to you in one ear and encouraged your insecurities in the other. I saw him turn your friends away, or stretch the distance growing between you." Snape tore his eyes from Harry's penetrating gaze and buried his face in his hands. "I witnessed him coordinate your meetings with Voldemort, waiting for the inevitable to happen; when you would defeat the most powerful dark wizard of our age against all odds, or die, leaving Dumbledore to step up and take the mantle of 'Saviour.'

"And I, to my everlasting shame, thought you deserved it. Knowing now as I do, the pain you have suffered due to his negligence, I am prepared to cast aside my interests, and concentrate on yours." At this he forced his eyes upwards again, to meet with compassionate green ones and added: "That is, if you will forgive me."

"Does this mean you don't hate me?" Harry asked.

Snape started and did a double-take to ascertain if the boy was being serious. After seeing Harry's lips fighting to retain a smile, he did something he hadn't done in years and let out a sudden bark of laughter.

"That may be going too far. I should take points for your cheek, you insolent brat!" he said with good humour. Harry's face split into a massive grin which shone through the pain.

Sobering after such an intense period of displaying emotions, his demeanor took on a serious air. Once again he began to clean Harry's wounds. This time however, his touch was altogether gentler, his brow furrowing in concern whenever he caused the boy to wince.

"You know they're Muggle ointments don't you?" asked Harry, referring to the salves Snape was applying.

"Yes. What of it?" Snape replied tersely.

"Oh, nothing. I just didn't want my nurse to have a heart attack and drop dead when he realized, leaving me sitting here receiving no medical attention. But if you're OK with it…" he trailed off when he noticed the withering glare he was receiving.

"For your information," he huffed "these are the only treatments with healing properties I can give you that won't interfere with the Potions." He suddenly became more alert as he remembered the reason he was in such a state that morning and jumped out of his seat.

"YOU! It was _you_ who broke into my stores last night! How did you do it? Who are you working with? Who made the potions? And what in the world possessed you to take a swig of Yerasimos' Quandary in the first place?" he ranted. Only when he caught a glimpse of Harry staring determinedly at his hands did he relent.

Deciding to take a softer approach, he sat down beside Harry once more and beseeched him to confess. "Well?"

Harry, seeing no way out of it without harming this new understanding between them, took a deep breath and decided to tell him the truth. "You see, well, Imadethepotioninmycupboardandtherewasanaccidentandidranksome…"

He looked imploringly at Snape, who blinked.

"Would you mind, awfully, repeating that?" he asked, not unkindly.

"Sir, I made the potion over the holidays… and there was an accident… and I drank some of it…"

"Sorry, I think I misheard. I thought you said that _you _made the potion."

"Sir, I did!" Snape still looked skeptical and sneered, an expression that faltered as Harry continued.

"It took me a while. All I found at first were obscure references - but then I began to speculate – and once I had a pretty good foundation of knowledge as to what went in it – I started to experiment – was stuck a while there – trial and error you know – but then I hit on the right combo – monkshood _before_ the essence of murtlap – dragon's blood _after _the ground pixie fingers – everything sorta clicked – you know - " he paused when he felt a hand on his forearm.

Harry looked up from his ramblings to find Snape staring at him with and open mouth.

"Catching flies Professor?"

Snape's mouth shut with an audible snap, although he continued to stare at his pupil for several more minutes.

"Do you mean to tell me that you, Harry Potter, Potions Debacle, Bane of all Potions Masters, managed to brew Yerasimos' Quandary, an elixir so foul all traces of it have been scoured from the face of the earth?" he asked in a slightly breathy voice.

"Yes, Sir."

"H-h-" swallow, "h-how?"

"Well…you see," Harry began nervously, shifting on the cot slightly only to wince in pain. "I reached Newt Level Potions by my second year, and developed a handy Solution –pardon the pun- to the scarce amount of time I had at Hogwarts, called Sleepless Nights. So in effect, I was able to study while my peers slept. You see, I really am quiet fond of potions, I just couldn't let you - or anyone else for that matter - find out." He finished haltingly.

"Well that clears that up." Snape stated sarcastically.

Harry looked down at his hands again, the left now set with a hard cast around it, itching slightly where it was sure to annoy him for weeks. His professor had done an excellent job at patching him up. Clearly he had extensive knowledge of Muggle first aid and medical applications.

Snape was still trying to comprehend all that Harry had told him. This wasn't the full story, that much was obvious, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

"And your injuries? Ingesting the poison – mistakenly or otherwise – does not explain how they occurred."

"I fell -"

"I don't believe you." The dark man peered into Harry's face, urging his gaze upwards, although he would not betray the boy's trust by reading his thoughts.

"How are you relatives?" He attempted, and his suspicions were confirmed as Harry blanched. The Gryffindor mouthed soundlessly, attempting to answer his rescuer. He failed and resigned himself to further silence, hoping his professor would drop the subject.

Snape sighed and let his hand fall on the boy's good shoulder, going so far as to give it a comforting squeeze. He resolved to address the matter when he was in a more stable condition.

"I'll help you. Merlin knows why…"

Harry smiled weakly at the muttering Potions Master. They spent another good half-hour tending to his wounds, trying to cover the silence with stilted conversation both were regretting they hadn't had earlier, including entertaining accounts as to how his Potions prowess remained undetected. Snape was internally overjoyed that he had found someone else as besotted by Potions as he was. And Harry, well, Harry was just glad he had found someone who wouldn't leave him, someone who saw past his name and wouldn't hesitate to tell him when he was being a prat.

Snape reminded him of the detention he was to serve that night, which would now double as a weekly medical examination and a chance to discuss the art of Potions - although he wouldn't get away without scrubbing at least a cauldron or six (without magic). When it was time to leave for his next class, Snape himself cast indestructible Concealment Charms on his multiple bruises and bandages before watching him limp away, urging the boy to eat as much as he could at lunch to help with the healing process. Not that he cared of course.

End Chapter 5

A/N: What did you think? Hope Snape isn't too out of character. His interaction with Harry shouldn't change at all from the snarky git we all know and love, just his intentions. Tell me if it needs fixing or anything. Please review!


	6. Observations

Title: The Quandary's Hope

Author: Intrepid Aarcher

Summary: Harry's Potions skills have been well hidden until an accident occurs involving a deadly concoction. Malfoy has noticed not all seems well with his arch-nemesis, but why does he care? And where does a surly Potions master fit into the equation? HPDM

Disclaimer: I'm not making any money out of this foray into the world of fan fiction. I just like to borrow the characters.

Warnings: eventual Harry/Draco slash. So that's male/male duh. A bit of abuse here and there, and some pretty dark themes.

"_Parseltongue"_

"normal speech"

_Thoughts_

CHAPTER SIX

Observations

Draco was sure it was Potter behind that screen like he'd never been sure of anything in his life. Ever since the strange episode on the train, he hadn't taken his eyes off his nemesis, and what he'd observed made him curious. Every little gesture the brunette made or interaction he had with others proved that Potter was not himself. This new Potter was quiet and aloof, restricted in his movements as though he were holding something back. It was such a difference from his usual carefree persona; a Potter Draco was extremely familiar with as he had watched him closely for years in keeping with his father's advice: 'know your enemy.'

He had watched him closely in this morning's Potions class too, something he normally avoided as he usually concentrated for his Godfather's benefit. This morning he witnessed a Potter, who under extremely close observation, appeared to know exactly what he was doing. A Potter who took a subtle glance around the room, and, when he thought no-one was looking _threw _the wrong ingredient in as though he _knew_ what would happen.

And now he had seen his Godfather drag a body into his chambers. If this wasn't something to do with the unusual pattern forming around Potter, he'd swallow his wand. A lump suddenly formed in Draco's throat. His Godfather was second to his father in the Dark Lord's command. He didn't know if he liked the fact that Severus was orchestrating an attempt on the Golden Boy's life. _Pull yourself together. This is not the kind of thinking a promising Death Eater needs. _And with that, he straightened his robes and marched up to the stairs to Arithmancy, trying very hard not to dwell on a pair of startling emerald eyes.

At lunch he kept an eye out for Potter, and was surprised at the change in demeanour he saw. The Gryffindor's behaviour –apart from physical movements- had reverted back to his usual self. He chatted amicably with his friends and forced his food down with gumption. In fact he was almost completely fooled, until he saw the corner's of Potter's mouth twitch as he glanced briefly at the staff table. Draco followed the look and watched as Professor Snape's sharp stare never once left the dark-haired boy's form.

Draco was perplexed, and it must have shown, for Blaise nudged his shoulder and raised a razor thin eyebrow.

"And may I ask which pretty thing has caught your attention, Oh He-Of-The-Shiny-Hair?"

"Shut it, Zabini. When your inane babble is required, it shall be called for. Until then, no one wants to hear it." He snapped.

Blaise took no notice of his friend's remark, "Oh but it needed to be said," he warned, "for you wouldn't want one of the rank-climbers to note that you were paying particular attention to a certain green-eyed boy." His tone was somewhat cold.

The blond glared at the Italian boy. "I'm only trying to quell some suspicions I have. He's up to something. I know it." Blaise only smiled eerily and got up to leave for his next class.

Later that evening, the boy that had occupied his thoughts all day once again made an appearance.

As Draco made his way down to the dungeons, he noticed Potter hurrying to the potions classroom. Breathing heavily and favouring one leg over the other, he was clutching several large and ancient looking tomes. Draco melted into the shadows and followed silently when he struggled by. The boy looked nervous. _He should,_ thought Draco; he was over twenty minutes late to a detention with Hogwarts' resident jailor. Eager to see if the confusing events of the day could possibly get any stranger, the Slytherin waited.

Potter reached his destination and paused for a moment as he caught his breath. He raised his free hand to knock – only to have the door ripped open before his knuckles even made contact.

Draco's jaw dropped as the grim professor merely stood there, a foreign emotion that looked oddly like relief passed over his face before his usual expressionless front was resumed.

"Well step inside Potter," he spat, "you are late enough as it is, and there is a bottomless cauldron just begging to be scrubbed."

Draco's jaw plummeted to new depths as the Gryffindor smiled timidly and offered a quiet "yessir" and entered the classroom. He was still standing there some minutes later, trying to sort out the jumble in his head that were his thoughts. This new – _development _– between his Godfather and his nemesis was most alarming.

Draco knew Severus well. He knew how cunning his Head of House was, how conniving he could be. He had often witnessed the cruel tendencies the shrewd man displayed, bringing the toughest seventh year Slytherin close to tears with malicious taunting when he happened to be displeased. Yet here he was, seeming to harbour no ill will towards the Golden Boy, whom everyone knows he _abhors. _

It must be some sort of plot. An evil plan devised by the Dark Lord to ensnare the Boy Who Lived, and Snape was a key figure. He must be manipulating Potter somehow, drawing him in until he had a false sense of security, until _snap, _Snape would betray his trust and hand him over to Voldemort. For some reason, these thoughts did not throw Draco into a fit of glee. Instead, he felt a dead weight settle in the pit of his stomach.

Over the course of the next few weeks he continued to watch Potter, and before his eyes he saw the boy's bright personality diminish while his lithe form seemed to waste away. Draco was beginning to wonder why no one else noticed all this; didn't the brat have any friends at all? He knew that the Weasel and the Granger girl had paired up over the summer holidays, but he would not have thought it would prevent them from spending time with their oldest friend.

One day as he sat quietly in the library, Draco grew worried for his own sanity when he considered dropping them an anonymous note to tell them to pay attention. He relaxed somewhat, when he heard bickering voices issuing from the next aisle of books.

"Harry, please tell us what's wrong! We only want to try and help you." That whine sounded suspiciously like the Mudblood.

"Yeah, mate. We're really worried you know." The Weasel was talking now. "You're not eating, you're barely sleeping… I swear if Snape's doing something - "

"You leave him out of it!" A quiet but firm voice snapped. Draco felt an odd burning in his chest at these words, and the familiarity that they implied made him gasp. Snape must have him wrapped around his little finger already. He knew he could never stand in the way of the Dark Lord's plans, and the thought of his professor so blatantly manipulating Ha – Potter to _like _him made him uneasy. The burning sensation doubled.

A soft sigh slipped through the rows of books. "Look guys, I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused you. I'm just a bit under the weather at the moment, that's all. I must be coming down with a bug or something." Draco's eyes widened in alarm.

"A bug! Where! Come over into the light and I'll get it for you, mate!" Ron urged his friend.

There was a pause for some seconds, and then an outburst of what sounded like suppressed laughter. After several minutes of sniggering and giggling that confused the blonde, Granger's know-it-all tone cut in.

"Oh Ron," she said through her amusement, "never change will you. A bug is a Muggle term for a virus, an illness one can pick up if they're around them for any length of time, and as Harry was at the Dursley's for the entire summer, he could have quite easily caught one."

Harry's laughter stopped altogether and he had gone quiet again at some point in Granger's explanation.

"Yeah, look you two, Hermione and I have got Potions next and I don't want to be responsible for losing another fifty points. Let's go."

The Gryffindor trio made to leave and Draco pressed himself against the shelves to avoid being noticed. He made his way down to the dungeons after them and swept into the classroom with his renowned regal air, sitting so he was able to keep an eye on Potter.

The lesson progressed as usual; the students silent in their various activities of chopping, stirring, slicing and dicing. At least until about half-way through the class.

Draco stared as he saw all colour drain from Potter's face. His knuckles were white as he gripped the desk for support, his upper body swaying as he fought to maintain his balance. The Slytherin froze as he saw a trickle of blood make its way from the delicate corner of his mouth, a deep rose red against the pale skin of his chin. Draco, sure that something was seriously wrong, was about to call out to the professor, when Harry reached out and knocked his cauldron to the floor.

Hearing the noise, Snape's head snapped up from his marking and met Harry's frantic gaze.

"That is _it_, Potter!" he yelled, marching up to the Gryffindor and grabbing his robes by the back collar. "OUT! I'm taking you to the Headmaster right away! Surely he can't let you get away with _another _transgression. Malfoy, you're in charge." And with that he glared around at the rest of his charges before pushing the pale boy in front of him towards the door.

"Well you heard the man." Draco said coldly when the student and teacher had left, forcing them all to return to their work. "Granger, clean up your beloved hero's mess." He sneered at the concerned looking girl.

As order was once again established in the classroom, Draco covertly edged towards the door, certain Snape wouldn't have gone far with a boy on the verge of collapse. Making sure everyone was once again absorbed in their work, he peeked his head around the door frame.

What he saw made his heart shudder to a stop.

Snape was on his knees sitting back on his heals, supporting Harry who lay leaning with his back against him. Draco watched as one pale hand lay outstretched on the cool dungeon floor, twitching as the taller man rifled through his robes.

Draco stifled a yell at that, remembering he was meant to be supervising the class. The burning feeling he had experienced earlier returned in force as he saw the Potions Master spare a moment to gently smooth back the messy hair from a fevered forehead, muttering soothing words to the teen.

Snape gave a triumphant grunt as he located something in Harry's front pocket, hurriedly withdrawing his hand which contained a slim vial. From Draco's vantage point, he could smell the vile potion as Snape removed the stopper, and he felt a violent urge to knock the black substance from his Godfather's hand as he lifted the vial to Potter's lips and tipped the contents down.

He just managed to pull his head back into the classroom as Snape - as though sensing someone was there - began to turn around.

Draco slumped heavily against the wall, glad the rest off the students hadn't noticed as he fought to suppress his swirling emotions, confused as to what he'd just seen.

END CHAPTER 6

A/N: Sorry to those who read the note and were left hanging. My Grandad passed away the other day, so everything was a bit hectic for a bit and I didn't really have the time to hop on the computer. Please tell me if you liked this chapter, I have so many ideas for this story that it's hard to know where to put them all. Cheers, Aarcher.


	7. And Call Me Severus

Title: The Quandary's Hope

Author: Intrepid Aarcher

Summary: Harry's Potions skills have been well hidden until an accident occurs involving a deadly concoction. Malfoy has noticed not all seems well with his arch-nemesis, but why does he care? And where does a surly Potions master fit into the equation? HPDM

Disclaimer: I'm not making any money out of this foray into the world of fan fiction. I just like to borrow the characters.

Warnings: eventual Harry/Draco slash. So that's male/male duh. A bit of abuse here and there, and some pretty dark themes.

"_Parseltongue"_

"normal speech"

_Thoughts_

CHAPTER SEVEN

And Call Me Severus

Snape could have sworn he'd heard a scuffling noise near the door to the classroom, but when he snapped his head around to check there was nobody there.

Turning back to Harry, he eased the young man's upper body onto the floor before casting a Levitation charm and moving him to a small alcove nearby. Gently lowering the hovering form onto the cushions of a stone bench, he knelt down and wiped away the few drops of potion that had spilled onto his cheek, along with the thin trickle of blood.

Harry gave a soft groan as he stirred, his eyes unfocussed for a moment as he tried to take in his surroundings.

"Severus?" he whispered, peering into his professor's face.

"Care to explain why you failed to ingest your latest dose on time?" he snapped, though his eyes were soft.

Harry grimaced and at least had the grace to look sheepish. "Hermione and Ron are on my case. As hard as I try, I'm not pulling off the act like I used to. Just before the lesson, sir, we had somewhat of an argument. I must have forgotten, sorry." His voice trailed off weakly.

Snape drew his brows together in consternation.

"Well if those two have noticed then the situation is grave indeed. I will strengthen the Glamour Charms surrounding you, however in addition to your Monday evening 'detentions,' you will join me each night after dinner and I will devise a sensible training regime to regain your physical strength." Harry paled at this but Severus held up his hand and was quick to mention the appeal of such a plan. "Quidditch season is fast approaching and you _must not _appear anything less than your usual self. Your performance on the pitch cannot suffer, or else we may have to deal with some unwarranted attention.

"To assist your physical wellbeing, I will provide you with a nutrient supplement, Muggle of course, which you must consume regularly to counter the destructive effect the antidote is having on your system." Snape paused. "I don't know how you've managed to make it this far, Harry. You have inner strength to you that most people would never hope to witness in another soul, yet here you are before my eyes, enduring such terrible ordeals day after day and growing the stronger for it." He finished softly.

"Sev, you're making me blush," was the cheeky response.

"I may like you," he sneered, "but that does _not _permit such a desecration of my _name_." and with that he stalked back to his forsaken Potions class, allowing the Gryffindor to stay and rest.

Harry lay still while he absorbed all that Severus had said. _Physical exercise. _This would prove to be an interesting challenge. While Harry had always had a high level of fitness due to constant running from bullies and more recently Quidditch, his endurance levels now paled to what they once were. Simply getting from class to class was enough to force the breath from his lungs and leave him light-headed for the rest of the lesson. But Severus would make it all right. He always did.

He was used being lectured by the Potions Master, although now it was in an altogether friendly way. Over the past few weeks the two had grown close. It was inevitable with the amount of trust they were placing on each other, and Harry was grateful that he had someone who would see him through the trials that lay ahead.

Sighing to himself, he closed his eyes, the familiar tones of his Potions Master drifting along the hall lulling him into a light sleep.

That night at dinner the young Gryffindor wolfed his dinner down quickly, all the while keeping an ear open to his friends. Ron and Hermione were pelting him with questions they hadn't been able to ask in their other classes; why was he dragged out of Potions, what had Dumbledore said? He answered as ambiguously as possible, through grunts with his mouth full. They got the message and turned to have their own conversation.

Harry sighed as he listened to the two of them happily chatting away about Lavender's latest midnight sojourn, each putting forth suggestions of who she could be visiting. The possible suitors got more and more outrageous until finally Filch and even Hagrid were named.

Swallowing the lump that was lodged in his throat at the desire to be so carefree, he stood up and left the Great Hall.

He was twenty minutes early for his session with Snape, and not wanting to intrude on the Professor's free time - he sank to the floor and closed his eyes. The cool stone wall he was leaning against was having a calming effect on his nerves. He was nowhere near as scared of Snape as he was, but he remained insecure about the man's promise to help him. Was he putting the Slytherin Head of House in too much danger? What if he simply got sick of the Gryffindor? He wasn't sure what he'd done to warrant the man's help, he could only hope he was a man of his word.

Harry thought back to an evening two weeks ago.

---

Snape had invited him into his sitting room rather than talk in his office as they usually did. While the Potions Master busied himself with resetting the wards and establishing extra privacy charms, the raven haired boy perched himself on the edge of a surprisingly comfy couch, and tentatively looked about the room.He had been in there once before, though he hardly remembered the place from his first chaotic visit.

The ceiling was quite low as you would expect in a dungeon, with heavy wooden rafters supporting the weight above it. There were two other entrances besides the one he came through, leading presumably to a bedroom and bathroom. On one wall there was a small alcove of sorts beginning from about waist height and arching to a point just shy of the ceiling. Sitting on the ledge was a simple candelabra of a gothic fashion, casting an austere light against the wall and ornate mirror behind it.

Any wall space that was not occupied by an opening was hidden from floor to ceiling by bookshelves. What Harry found interesting was that each was a different size ranging from thick planks of wood to support ominous tomes, to small pigeon-hole type slots that housed well-labelled scrolls. Although he couldn't begin to discern the method, there was clearly an ordering system of sorts in place.

Snape had finished what he was doing and was quietly observing the curious teen.

"Is it quite to your standards, Mr Potter?" he teased.

"This place is cool, sir!" Harry replied and then blushed at his enthusiasm.

"Well it's not much, but it is home whilst I teach at Hogwarts. My family's main _dwelling _is situated on the North York Moors. I try to avoid it if possible." He sneered.

"Why? Where do you go then in the holidays?" He asked.

Snape peered at him with a raised eyebrow and Harry cursed inwardly at his tactlessness.

"It is not the only other place I am able to inhabit. I have a specialised Potions Laboratory in Dublin were most of the world's leading research is done in that field. And as to the manor, well apart from being frightfully breezy, the place holds few happy memories for me." He turned to the bookshelves leaving the Gryffindor feeling guilty for bringing it up.

Just as Harry was about to apologise for his rudeness, the man turned around and handed him a dusty leather-bound journal. Looking back up at his mentor, he followed Snape's responding gaze back down to the document and decided to inspect it more closely.

Stamped around the edge of the stiff leather were Moorish designs, the patterns made up of intricate geometric shapes. Cautiously lifting the cover, he squinted at the text written there. The calligraphy was elaborate with curves and sweeping diagonal flourishes. He guessed the script was Arabic.

Harry glanced up as the Potions Master muttered a translating charm and returned to the text to find he could understand it.

His eyes became as round as saucers when he saw what was written in the centre of the title page:

"_Herein lies the ordeal of Yerasimos, Deceiver, Betrayer of Secrets and Disloyal Servant to Her Majesty, Queen Rai of the Erudite Race."_

Stunned, he felt his jaw drop and gaped like a fish. "Sir, how did you...? What the..? When was..? Huh?"

Snape chuckled as he put two fingers under Harry's jaw and closed it.

"This priceless artefact has been in my family for generations. While it contains the narrative of Yerasimos' tale leading up to and after the ingestion of the poison, it does not shed any light into how it was made. It does however describe the antidote, which is why I grew suspicious when certain ingredients were taken." He paused long enough to glare at Harry, the theft still a sore point between them.

His expression relaxed and he began again. "It makes for an extremely entertaining read. I want you to have it."

"What?" The boy spluttered. "Sir you can't give it to me! I'll lose it – damage it – destroy it!"

"Which is why, Harry, I have place several impervious charms upon it to prevent exactly that from happening."

"Sir…I, I don't know what to say…"

"Not in the least bit unexpected I assure you." the man snapped. "Say you'll take it, you useless child, and call me Severus."

---

Harry smiled at the memory and shifted on the cold flag stones. He had since made it halfway through the journal, unable to put it down at times as the thrilling tale of unrequited love, betrayal and lust unfolded before him.

Severus wasn't going anywhere, he told himself. He had trusted him enough to give him an irreplaceable heirloom that had survived plagues, war and Ministry investigations; the least he could do was trust Severus to stay.

His musings were interrupted all of a sudden by the most unwelcome voice imaginable.

"Harry Potter," the voice cooed. "What are you doing on the floor?" A smooth hand was placed under his chin, forcing him to look up into chocolate brown eyes.

End chapter 7

A/N: Congrats to Rai who was my one hundredth reviewer! As a prize I asked her what she would like, and as it so happened she fit perfectly into the role of the Queen, whose story will come to light a little later. Perhaps for the 150th reviewer there can be a prize too!

I just wanted to give my deepest thanks to those who sent such lovely messages via reviews in the last chapter. Your condolences were truly appreciated.


	8. An Impartial Observer

Title: The Quandary's Hope

Author: Intrepid Aarcher

Summary: Harry's Potions skills have been well hidden until an accident occurs involving a deadly concoction. Malfoy has noticed not all seems well with his arch-nemesis, but why does he care? And where does a surly Potions master fit into the equation? HPDM

Disclaimer: I'm not making any money out of this foray into the world of fan fiction. I just like to borrow the characters.

Warnings: eventual Harry/Draco slash. So that's male/male duh. A bit of abuse here and there, and some pretty dark themes.

"_Parseltongue"_

"normal speech"

_Thoughts_

CHAPTER EIGHT

An Impartial Observer

Draco sighed as he watched the brunette leave the Great Hall early for his usual detention. _Here we go again. _He had been tailing the Gryffindor endlessly since he'd witnessed his Godfather give him the potion, yet he had learned nothing. Nothing, unless you counted noticing the way Potter favoured one leg above the other, the way his smile no-longer reached his eyes, the way his hands shook as they clutched heavy books, the way his hair fell into his eyes just so…

The Slytherin awarded himself a mental face slap.

_Get over it. _He told himself. _The guy has no appeal. He's unsophisticated, unconventional, unkempt, roguish and... totally irresistible. _

Draco's shoulders slumped in defeat. It was about time he acknowledged to himself what he was feeling. For weeks now he had been assaulted with a barrage of tumultuous emotions, confusing him at every turn – even going as far as to make him unsure of himself when he went to insult the Gryffindor trio.

Even if he was able to admit his feelings to himself, he sure wasn't going to do anything about it. Hell, he wasn't even sure if he _liked _the guy. Attracted to? Yes. Not hate him enough to put aside house rivalries and hold a decent conversation? Maybe. But like?

He knew what he didn't like though.

He didn't like how Harry seemed to diminish further with every passing day. He didn't like the fact that the Weasel and Granger weren't paying enough attention to him. He didn't like the way certain people looked at Harry. And he certainly didn't like whatever part Severus Snape was playing in all this.

Draco cast a concealment charm on himself before rounding the last corner to the Potions classroom, sinking into the shadows as he watched Harry approach the door. Instead of knocking like Draco had anticipated, Harry slid to the floor and closed his eyes.

Taking a deep breath at this opportunity to watch the Gryffindor in this unguarded state, he let his eyes take in the delicate sight before him. Harry's face was like an open book as a range of expressions passed over his features. Firstly there was pain as he settled into a more comfortable position on the stone floor. Then his brow relaxed and his lips unfurled from a grimace into a state of rest as he let his mind wander.

Draco wanted to reach out and touch those lips, to smooth that brow with his own hand… Snapping back to the present, he became aware of footsteps approaching.

Blaise Zabini stepped into view at the end of the corridor and paused as he took in the sight of the hunched form sitting in Slytherin territory. He approached.

"Harry Potter," he cooed. "What are you doing on the floor?" He placed a smooth hand under Potters chin, forcing him to look up into chocolate brown eyes.

Draco was silent. Torn between revealing himself and wanting to see where this was leading, he waited.

"Zabini!" Harry hissed, leaning away from the other boy's grasp. "How _dare _you come near me! How can you live with yourself knowing what you did?" Seeing Blaise hesitate he reached out and caught the tall boy's wrist in a vice like grip.

"Oh yes, I know it was you. You see there's something about your eyes I've seen once before. They're like a window to your soul. I can peek in and see the evil lurking there that you try to hide." His grip tightened painfully with every passing moment.

Draco watched with a bated breath as he tried to understand what was happening. His breath was robbed from his lungs when Harry continued.

"You see, Zabini, I'm not rendered powerless now by a pathetic family like I was when you caught me." His voice dropped to a barely discernable whisper that Draco had to strain to catch. "No, Zabini. In fact, it's quite the opposite."

Blaise started to whimper under the intensity of the gaze from the boy on the floor in front of him.

All of a sudden there was a pulse of magic and Blaise was flung back with a sickening thud into the wall opposite, falling into a crumpled heap onto the floor.

Draco was frozen. Harry's wand was nowhere in sight.

The boy in question was now breathing heavily, his face sweaty and pale. The door to the classroom opened and a figure in a set of billowing black robes stepped out. He looked over at the defeated figure of Blaise on the floor and turned to Harry.

"I thought I heard a racket. Do I even want to know what that was about?"

Harry shook his head weakly and made to stand, only to find himself reacquainted with the floor.

"Oh for crying out- here," the Potions Master swooped down on Harry like some giant bird of prey, gathering him up into his arms and carrying him into the room. The door slammed behind him and Draco remembered to breathe.

---

Draco stared at the door for several more minutes before he remembered the unconscious form lying not four feet from him.

Cautiously, he stepped up to the body and determined he was still breathing before slumping to the ground next to his classmate.

_What the hell just happened?_

The blonde struggled to piece together the information he'd been privy to. He came up blank. Nothing made sense! Not Blaise approaching Harry in an all too familiar way, or the Gryffindor attacking him with such vehement words. The boy didn't even have a wand when he threw Blaise across the corridor!

Draco wanted answers.

He pulled his wand from its usual place in his sleeve and attempted to revive Blaise, but with his hands shaking so violently the wand action was misinterpreted and the unconscious boy's nose started to bleed. Draco swore. Every other spell he tried had similar results and in the end he resorted to gripping his fellow Slytherin by the back of his robes and dragging him the fifty paces to the Slytherin common room. Luckily for him there was no-one about when the false wall revealed the entrance, as they were all probably in their rooms by now. The Slytherin bunch were not a social lot.

Dragging his load into the elegant room, he left the body on the floor and took a seat in a grand wing-back chair by the fire.

Harry had done wandless magic.

The notion would have been inconceivable to him one hour ago, and now his whole world had turned around. Wandless magic was myth. Oh he new the Dark Lord could do tricks, but to this degree? He thought not.

A thought suddenly struck him: he was supporting the wrong Saviour. While he had believed in Voldemort's cause initially, he had begun to understand for some time that his reign would not bring about higher protection for the pure-blooded way of life, but death, destruction and total annihilation. The man/creature had become obsessed as well, with the one who had crashed to a halt his first time in power; Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived.

The blond began to smile - a rare event indeed, as his whole world came into focus with a sharp clarity like a breath of cold wind. He would support the Golden Boy. How though was another matter altogether. He couldn't just walk up to the guy and say -

"Hi, I hate Voldemort. How 'bout you?"

No. he needed an approach. Had it been anyone else he wouldn't have doubted his charm and charisma to tide them over. But Harry was different. They had come to heads and fought so many times now that until recently he wouldn't have known a day where he didn't accuse the Gryffindor of being a prick or something equally as tasteful.

He would have to be subtle. He had no idea what part his Godfather played in all this.

Draco's thoughts turned sour once more. He didn't like the way the greasy man had swooped down and picked Harry up in his arms. Snape was a wizard- why couldn't he use his wand! He looked like he was used to it though. Like he did it _all the time._

The blond's lips twisted into an ugly sneer as he thought about the other occasions Snape might have held Harry as he did just now. Maybe when they –

There was a muffled grunt as Blaise awoke to find himself being used as Draco's footrest.

"Hello Zabini." Came the silky voice of the Slytherin Prince. "I think there's something you need to tell me."

Blaise struggled out from under his feet and lurched to his feet, his hands going to his face as he sank into the chair opposite Draco. He sat there for a minute to regain his bearings before facing his superior.

"I don't know what you mean." He said blankly, not giving anything away.

"_Accio Veritaserum!_" Draco's eyes glinted like steel. "And don't even think about going anywhere my friend." He announced with his wand trained on the other boy as a small vial slapped into his hand.

"You see, Zabini, I witnessed your little interlude with Potter. I don't like being kept in the dark and you will tell me," Draco pressed his fingers together. "Or else my father shall know about that Gryffindor slut you're shagging.

"Oh yes I know about Lavender, and I know you couldn't care two straws about her, but imagine if Our Lord were to find out? Hmmm?" Blaise' face paled.

Draco passed the vial to Blaise who obediently took off the stopper and placed two drops of the colourless liquid onto his tongue. Draco took back the vial.

"You may begin."

Blaise sat up straighter in his chair and stared at Draco as he recounted his tale in a sullen voice.

"The Dark Lord bestowed upon me a great honour. This summer past I began proper work for him as a true liege man would.

"We had finally located Potter's residence, a dull dwelling in a filthy Muggle neighbourhood. For weeks the place was watched, but not once was there any sign of him. The Dark Lord was furious and put to death the one who had led us there. Despairing that this was not the correct house, an attempt was made to get inside and have a look. They couldn't get in- the place was so heavily warded skin would blister and burn if the wards were even approached. It was the right house.

"I was unmarked, the perfect man for the job. I was to locate Potter and get some blood, that was all. In order to get in, I had to befriend the son of Potter's Aunt and Uncle. A whale of a boy with huge meaty fists. I met him in a park, bludgeoning a small boy of five or six years old. At first he was wary of me, but then I offered to help. From then on I became a regular addition to his little gang. We committed petty crimes, stealing from stores, bullying the local populace. All I had to do was wait for an invitation to his home.

"The day before the start of term I had my chance. I was getting worried and pressure was building from those who brought the orders from Our Lord. They said once the Dark Lord was finished with Potter that I could have him, if I completed my task. If I didn't, I would not make it back to Hogwarts for the year." He shifted in his chair and a strange light came into his eyes. Draco narrowed his eyes.

"I couldn't wait. I got Dudley drunk and practically begged for him to take me home by dropping hints about needing an 'outlet.' He seemed to know of one and finally invited me home." His breathing grew more pronounced.

"Potter was there alright. He was kept in a cupboard, his grandeur subdued by those fucking Muggles, it was pathetic. We interrupted him brewing something. I have no idea what, Potions homework maybe. They beat him then. He seemed resigned, it must happen often." He snarled.

"Then they left him alone with me. How could I let this opportunity pass by? He was mine by right already, I had completed the mission and got the blood when they were beating him. I couldn't resist, I had to have a taste." Blaise grinned, a foul twisting of his lips that turned his beautiful face into that of a monster.

Draco's jaw clenched and he barely held in his fury at those words, trying to block the mental images they conjured. His hands were shaking again.

"Jealous are we, Draco?" Blaise purred. "I'm sure the Dark Lord has a reason for gifting him to me rather than you."

"You fool." Draco chided to hide his inner turmoil. "What makes you think that a single piece of Potter will remain once Our Lord is through with him?"

Blaise looked stumped.

"Tell me; was there anything more to this remarkably perceptive plan?"

"Yes." Blaise looked annoyed with himself for admitting it.

"Elaborate please." The blond smirked, growing more and more worried by the minute.

"The protection that surrounds Potter, we don't know what it is. That's why we needed his blood - for research, so we can destroy it. We also don't know how powerful he is. No-one does. Not even the old fool who runs this school we suspect."

Draco glanced sharply at the boy he was interrogating. Did he not remember how he came to be unconscious? Perhaps it would be better if it remained so.

"Well, Zabini," Draco sighed dramatically. "There is nothing here I didn't already know, except your part in it. However in the future I require that you are more forthcoming with me. Is that clear?" Blaise nodded and stood to go, relieved that he had revealed nothing that would come back to haunt him.

Draco's mind was swirling with these new revelations. He felt sick. What Blaise had done to his Harry was disgusting. He would make sure he got what was coming to him. The new insights into Harry's life were also disturbing- he wasn't treated like a prince at home as they'd all thought; it was the other way around it seemed. He turned to the boy walking towards the dorms.

"Oh and one more thing, Zabini," Draco said casually, "_Obliviate!_"

He stood and steadied the boy who was swaying on his feet.

"Really, Zabini, you're a disgrace to Slytherin. Imagine if someone else had found you at the bottom of the staircase?"

End Chapter Eight

A/N: Hope you liked it! I have recently come under fire for not updating quickly enough, I am very busy, but if you like this fic please let me know and I will make time for it. Cheers guys, Aarcher.


	9. Collision Course

Title: The Quandary's Hope

Author: Intrepid Aarcher

Summary: Harry's Potions skills have been well hidden until an accident occurs involving a deadly concoction. Malfoy has noticed not all seems well with his arch-nemesis, but why does he care? And where does a surly Potions master fit into the equation? HPDM

Disclaimer: I'm not making any money out of this foray into the world of fan fiction. I just like to borrow the characters.

Warnings: eventual Harry/Draco slash. So that's male/male duh. A bit of abuse here and there, and some pretty dark themes.

"_Parseltongue"_

"normal speech"

_Thoughts_

CHAPTER NINE

Collision Course

Snape walked through his classroom and set Harry down on the couch in his sitting room before taking the chair opposite. He breathed out heavily through his nose and fixed him with a stern stare.

"I'd like to know the reason why I'm turning a blind eye to the unconscious Slytherin lying outside."

Harry struggled to form sentences as he regained his breath. "Zabini… Blaise Zabini was at my house this summer. He… aided Dudley and his gang when they attacked me. He saw the potion briefly, but wasn't there when it was forced down my throat. I'm positive he knows nothing of its nature."

Snape's face paled.

"What did he want from you? Did he take anything, Potter?" He snapped.

"I… I don't know. If he did, it was when I was unconscious… blood maybe?" Harry bit his lip.

The Potions Master rubbed his face. "I have had no instruction from the Dark Lord. Either it's of little consequence, or my position has been compromised. Well there's not much we can do about it at present, although I will endeavour to find out more."

He stood and exited the room, returning with several glass beakers containing varying shades of green sludge. He handed one to Harry, who had recovered enough to sit up, and ordered him to drink it.

Sniffing tentatively, he screwed up his face and counted to three before gulping it down.

"Eugh! I hope that was necessary!" He coughed.

"You are weak, and as such, you are vulnerable. These will provide you with sufficient nutrient supplements in fluid form. They contain a variety of vegetables and fruits extremely potent in restorative and energy properties. I have devised different combinations for you to take at intervals throughout the day. For example, you will take this one-" he indicated a vial, "in the morning as it has a high energy content, though with a low glycemic index so you will not burn your reserves too quickly, this one"…

Harry had zoned out by this stage and was only interested in dislodging the last remnants of what felt like mulch from his throat. After one particularly loud hack he looked up to find the professor glaring at him.

"Do you mind?" Snape said as he rolled his eyes. "If you might give me a precious moment of your time, Mr. Potter, this part's simple.

"I will make them all down here in the dungeons, and using spells on a similar strand to what the house elves use, transfer them to one vessel which you will carry."

He went to one of his bookshelves and pressed a spring loaded panel which in turn revealed a hidden drawer. Shuffling around, he pulled out an ornate silver hip-flask. He handed it back to the Gryffindor, sullenly muttering something about Moody and good ideas.

"The flask will vibrate when it is time to take the particular mixture that resides within. No don't make faces, you'd better get used to the taste as there will be at least one dose to take per hour. Your body does not store the goodness these fluids provide, rather it uses what it can and then passes it through. As your body is constantly undergoing a huge amount of harm from the poison and antidote, you require an ongoing means of replenishment."

Harry nodded and examined his flask. Trust Snape to have one with a snake motif. It was a disk shape with a finely engraved snake running around the edge. The head posed as a lid, and when he pressed down just behind the emerald encrusted eyes, the head raised up, drawing fangs out of two tiny grooves in the silver as well as revealing the opening. He would have to be careful he didn't pierce himself every time he drank from it. Despite this, Harry loved it and relished the perfect weight it had as it sat in his palm. He looked up at his professor and smiled at him appreciatively.

Snape frowned for a moment looking at the flask before drawing his wand and transfiguring a dull leather case for it to slide into.

"It is a bit precocious isn't it? It was my grandfather's. Keep it in there, it'll be a little bit more inconspicuous than shining silver that way." He began to shift furniture to create a space on the rug.

"Now, I trust you have recovered enough to move on to our next activity." At Harry's groan, the man's mouth twisted into a cruel smirk. "Don't worry; we will begin slowly in order to re-build your strength. Now, remove your outer robe, Pilates require unrestricted movement."

Over the next couple of weeks, Harry felt a marked difference in the way he was feeling. The ever-present pain of Yerasimos' Quandary was there, but he found he was not nearly as weak as before. Also, he began to notice more definition in his physique. He had always been toned from Quiddich and was still rail thin, but the extra sessions of Pilates was working his muscles in isolation.

His flying skills were also benefiting it seemed. Three times now in practice he had caught the Snitch in under forty minutes, although each had taken its toll and he had collapsed from exhaustion as soon as he found privacy. He was worried about the upcoming match versus Slytherin. How was he going manage in the hyped up atmosphere, not to mention playing against another team?

The Mulch, as he had come to call it, was still as disgusting as the first time he tried it. He thought after taking it once an hour every hour -excluding sleep- that he would have been used to it by know, but he had yet to refrain from cringing straight after drinking it. He tried hard not to, he had been successful so far; nobody had noticed him drinking from a highly suspicious-looking hip-flask. A few times he thought he saw Malfoy watching, but as soon as he turned his eyes to the Slytherin, he was never looking in his direction.

That was another disturbing thought. Malfoy hadn't said a harsh word to him in weeks. He was absolutely sure he was plotting something now. Whatever it may be, the Gryffindor had no doubt that he and Zabini were conspiring together, for whenever Blaise was around Harry, the blonde was never far from his side.

This only gave him further determination to win the match against Slytherin, no matter what it cost him. He _had _to catch the Snitch. No one could know there was anything wrong. That way he would show everyone that he was stronger than ever.

Draco Malfoy sat quietly in the Slytherin locker rooms as their captain delivered the usual pre-game threats. He was eager to get out onto the pitch and face the other Seeker, if only to see if Harry was still standing.

After the events he had witnessed, he had resolved to watch him with even more fervour, determined not to miss any indication as to what might be going on.

Unfortunately he still couldn't draw any conclusions. Over the past two weeks he had noticed Harry change again. This time he seemed to be improving somewhat, but while the brunette seemed to be able to do more and last longer, it almost seemed like a façade, as he would fade again quickly soon after.

Even more suspicious was the hip-flask Harry drank from on an alarmingly regular basis. He was discrete- Draco could grant him that, but then he didn't realise he was being watched like a hawk.

Draco shuddered to think what that flask might contain. Each time, he saw the boy drink and struggle to suppress a hideous grimace. He was consuming other substances too. Only last night when he was watching the brunette from behind bookshelves in the library, he had seen him look around and then unstopper a thin glass tube. It was filled with the same black substance Snape had forced down his throat outside the disastrous Potions class.

Alarm bells had gone off in his mind as he recalled the incident. His Head of House was behind whatever was wrong with Harry. He was still growing weaker, no matter how much it had slowed. He was sick, but not once had Draco seen him go up to the Hospital Wing.

The Slytherin team stalked out onto the pitch together and kicked off as Hooch blew the whistle. Draco immediately sought out Harry's form. To his trained eye he could see the boy was gripping his broom for dear life, even though his moves were as graceful as ever. On his face was a look a grim determination. Behind the goggles Draco could make out bright emerald eyes frantically searching for the tiny Snitch. It was as though he was being put to the test and only had a limited amount of time.

About fifteen minutes into the game Harry suddenly dove, speeding after a glint of gold on the far side of the pitch. He was sweating furiously and exerting as much power on his Firebolt as he could to go faster. Draco, who had been watching him the whole time, followed a split second later.

They sped towards the far end of the pitch fighting for the lead. Harry was ahead but Draco could see he was tiring fast. He could hear the other Seeker gasping for breath as they tore through the other players. As they came within ten metres of the winged ball, the two Seekers were level. It was only Harry's lightening fast reaction as the Snitch took an upwards turn that allowed him to pull above Draco and snatch the fluttering contraption out of the air.

Draco saw the look of fierce determination turn to pure relief. Shocked, he watched as Harry's eyes rolled up to reveal white and he passed out in mid flight, still moving higher. Making a split second decision, Draco moved his broom directly under the Gryffindor, waiting for the unconscious grip to finally loosen on the Firebolt.

Out of nowhere a Bludger came hurtling towards the scarlet robed Seeker, and Draco's jaw dropped in horror as the ferocious ball slammed into Harry's skull.

The strength of the impact forced the unconscious figure to hurtle down, heavily colliding with Draco and knocking him from his broom as he fought to catch him. Unable to stop their descent, Draco grasped the scarlet robes and pulled the other closer. The last thing he saw was Harry's face, a peaceful expression on his face, before darkness consumed him.

End Chapter Nine.

A/N: Hello again! Sorry it took so long, my uni workload snuck up on me and scared me to pieces! Sorry if it's a bit scratchy, but I don't have much time and wanted to get it out there for you guys to read. Let me know if you liked it! Cheers, Aarcher xxxx


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